


His Love is Corrective

by nocctem



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Ace subtype: kinky, Author is trans, Canon Asexual Character, Cis Elias Bouchard, Collars, Daddy Kink, Dom Elias Bouchard, Dom/sub, Finger Sucking, M/M, Oral Fixation, Praise Kink, Spanking, Sub Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Subspace, The Magnus Archives Season 1, Trans Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, once again we are projecting onto jon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 02:14:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29726760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nocctem/pseuds/nocctem
Summary: Jon feels a snarl threatening to bubble up his throat, but he tamps it down. “Right. I’m sorry Elias. I didn’t mean--”“I know you didn’t. But...you know what I have to do now, yes?”A spike of shame shoots through Jon, but at the same time, he feels a nervous shiver of arousal. Funny, he observes distantly, how those two wires seem to have become crossed in his brain since he met Elias. “Yes.”Elias smiles. “That’s a smart lad.”---Jon is rude to at a statement-giver. Elias teaches him a lesson.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 3
Kudos: 64





	His Love is Corrective

_Come see me in my office when you have time_.

Jon stares down at Elias’ text. He has a sinking feeling that he knows what this is about--evidently, a statement-giver had seen fit to _complain_ about his _attitude_ that morning.

Jon sniffs in annoyance. What had Mrs. Kotchen expected of him? Not only had she ambushed Jon as he arrived at the institute this morning, giving him no time to settle in and organize his thoughts before work and throwing his whole routine off-kilter, she had also had the _audacity_ to waste his time with one of the most _egregiously_ fabricated stories he had ever heard. When he had told her as much, she had stormed out of his office, leaving him to roll his eyes and add her statement to the ever-growing pile on his desk labelled with a sticky note “to file”.

Fine. He _is_ willing to admit that it may have been better if he had been a modicum less harsh, if only to not cause trouble for Elias. Maybe it _had_ been his tone; he's never been good at regulating his tone.

He types out a quick “ _Alright_ ,” before pocketing his phone, figuring that he may as well finish the follow-up research on statement #0151904, since he's knee-deep in it already, and if he pauses in the middle he might not be able to find his place again so easily.

Jon raps the back of his hand quietly against Elias’ door. He swallows against the tightness in his throat and taps his foot nervously against the plush carpet. This part of the Institute is a little more ornate than the rest, with deep green carpet and portraits of previous Institute heads on the walls framed in antique gold. He suppresses a shiver, feeling, childishly, like he is being watched.

“Come in,” he hears Elias say.

He steps inside and closes the door behind him. He breathes a subtle sigh of relief to be away from the creepy portraits, though he can't exactly place why they unnerve him.

Elias is at his desk, writing what appears to be a letter, or perhaps a report. He prefers to write things by hand rather than typing, and Jon has to admit he finds it oddly charming. It helps that Elias has gorgeous penmanship.

Without looking up, he says, “Ah, Jon. There you are. I was beginning to think you wouldn’t show, and we would have to do this at home.”

Jon’s face feels hot with embarrassment. “S- sorry, Elias. I was following up on a statement, and I suppose I lost track of time--”

Elias tsks. “Now, now, Jonathan. You know better than to make excuses. You kept me waiting for...how long?”

Jon purses his lips and thinks. “...Four hours,” he says finally.

“And thirty-seven minutes, to be exact.” Elias looks up and regards him at last. “Do you think my time isn’t valuable, Jonathan? I trust you will take care not to keep me waiting like that in the future.”

Jon splutters. “N-no! I mean, of course, your time is valuable, I--” He sighs, defeated. “Yes, Elias.”

He hears the dull scrape of Elias’ chair against the hardwood floor as Elias stands up. “Don’t look so sad, dear,” he says, rounding his desk and stepping up to Jon. He places a hand on Jon’s cheek. “I know you can get absorbed in your work. I know you care about it a great deal. I’m simply asking for a little more professionalism. You have _so_ much potential, Jon.” Jon’s chest flutters to hear about Elias’ confidence in him, and he looks up at the man through his eyelashes, who is smiling fondly.

“Which brings me to why I called you in, though I suspect you know already.”

Jon nods. “This morning, the statement-giver--”

“Called Rosie to complain about you, which was then transferred to me. I believe Mrs. Kotchen left us a bad review online as well,” Elias says, amusement sparkling in his eyes. “Can’t imagine what she must have said.”

Jon rushes to defend himself, indignation rising in his chest. “I’m sorry, Elias, but...did you _hear_ what she was saying? How does she expect anyone, least of all me, to take that seriously? If she has time to make up ridiculous stories, she has time to find a better hobby. One that _doesn’t_ waste my time.”

Elias taps Jon’s lips, silencing him before he can work himself up to a proper tirade. “That may be so. But I appointed you as the Head Archivist to represent this Institute well. We are dependent on our generous donors, and we can’t afford for them to withdraw their funding because they think supporting the Institute is bad PR.”

Jon feels a snarl threatening to bubble up his throat, but he tamps it down. He steps back and rakes a hand through his hair, left hand tapping ruthlessly against his side. He pushes out a sigh. “Right. I’m sorry Elias. I didn’t mean--”

“I know you didn’t. But...you know what I have to do now, yes?”

A spike of shame shoots through Jon, but at the same time, he feels a nervous shiver of arousal. Funny, he observes distantly, how those two wires seem to have become crossed in his brain since he met Elias. “Yes.”

Elias smiles. “That’s a smart lad.”

Jon would be embarrassed about how warm that praise makes him feel, if he could find it in him to feel like anything other than a preening cat. He manages a small, shy smile of his own.

Elias takes his hand and leads him to the sofa in the far corner of his office. “Turn around and kneel for me.”

Jon turns and drops to his knees on Elias’ rug. Behind him, he hears fabric rustling and metal clinking. He briefly wonders if Elias is taking his trousers off, before he feels Elias’ hand brushing his hair away from his nape, followed by the welcome smoothness of his leather collar.

The collar is a leather strip with a steel buckle and a small tag reading “good boy.” Although the design is generic at first glance, upon closer inspection one can see subtle eye designs pressed into the leather. Green thread, so dark it almost blends in with the black leather, lines the edges. Jon doesn’t know much about leatherworking, but he still recognizes that this is a quality piece, and he wonders again as Elias fastens it around his neck where Elias got it. Did he commission it specifically for Jon? The thought makes him feel embarrassingly giddy.

Elias combs his fingers through Jon’s thick, loose waves and Jon leans into his touch. On reflex, he apologizes, “I’ve been meaning to cut my hair, I know it isn’t professional to have it so long.”

“Shush,” Elias cuts him off. “I think it’s pretty, like you. You’ll keep it long like this, won’t you? My pretty little Archivist?”

Jon blushes. Elias...thinks he's pretty? He had been told his looks were “distinctive” and “unique” as a younger adult and teen, but Jon had always thought that was a kinder way to say _too sharp, off-putting, haggard_.

Georgie is the only other person who has ever called him pretty. He had had a hard time believing her then, and the years since have not exactly been kind. He couldn’t believe it then, and it's even harder to believe it now.

He bites his lip and nods.

Elias’ contented hum warms him to his core. “Good boy.”

Elias stands and walks around Jon to bend down in front of him. He hooks a deft finger underneath the collar and tugs lightly. “Is this alright?”

Jon takes a steadying breath. The reality of what they are about to do settles around him. He allows himself to sink into it. “Yes, sir. Not too tight.”

“Good. Stand up. Trousers off, but you may keep your underwear.”

Jon stands on unsteady legs, feeling Elias’ gaze like a physical weight watching to see if he will obey. Without meeting Elias’ eyes, he unbuckles his belt and shucks off his slacks. It’s a little awkward with his shoes on, but he manages. He folds his slacks neatly and places them on the carpet, along with his belt and glasses.

When he looks up, Elias is sitting in the middle of his sofa. He pats his knee, beckoning Jon to him.

He bends over Elias’ spread legs somewhat gracelessly, but Elias’ hand finds the small of his back and guides him down. He wriggles a little, trying to find a position stretched out over Elias’ lap and the couch that doesn’t feel so awkward. He ends up with his head cradled in crossed arms, a position that also conveniently hides his burning face.

“Comfortable?” Elias asks, and Jon can hear the smirk in his voice. He bites back a retort--it wouldn’t do to add on to his punishment.

“Yes, sir.”

Elias pets down his back before his hand finds Jon’s ass, grabbing and kneading, his grip verging on painful. His other hand brushes Jon’s hair away from his collar and rests over his neck in a way that sends a thrilling sense of being owned through Jon.

“Good. I think we’ll start with fifty today. I would have given you thirty, but since you kept me waiting I see fit to add to your punishment. I want you to count them for me. If you get mouthy, we’ll add ten more strikes. How does that sound?” Elias asks as he twists a hand in the hair at Jon’s nape and tugs gently.

Jon startles a little. Fifty is going to _hurt_. Jon will admit that he’s a bit of a masochist, but his pain tolerance is fairly low, and Elias’ hands are strong. Fifty will take him past the point of pleasurable pain, he knows.

But it's a little difficult to worry about that when Elias is petting his hair so nicely. Every once in a while he pauses to scratch at Jon’s nape, sending a shiver down his spine. Jon can feel his bones turning to jelly and his mind start to go fuzzy around the edges. He hums an affirmative in response, then gasps when Elias tugs his head up sharply.

“Words, Jon.”

Jon grits his teeth at the pain, then relaxes into it. He sighs and smiles, a little giddy. “That sounds good, sir.”

Elias does not give him time to stew in anticipation. The first _smack_ hits hard against Jon’s left cheek and pulls a startled gasp from him.

“One--” Jon begins and is cut off by another smack, this time closer to the junction of his thigh. “Two,” he whimpers. Elias grabs and kneads his stinging flesh before continuing.

Elias is uninterested in warming Jon up gradually, so by the time Jon hits thirty his voice is coming out thick and he sniffles between every other count.By forty he is crying silently, and by the time Elias has given him fifty spanks, his body is shaking with sobs.

“Come here,” Elias helps Jon sit up and gathers him against his chest. Jon buries his face in the crook of Elias’ shoulder and cries and cries while Elias pets his back and coos praise into his ear. At some point--Jon can’t gauge time right now--Elias begins rocking him gently like one would rock a crying child.

Jon hiccups. His crying has calmed down enough that he can catch his breath. He closes his eyes and presses his nose against Elias’ shirt collar, inhaling his natural masculine scent, with notes of sandalwood and amber from Elias’ cologne.

Elias’ smell is something that Jon associates with comfort, and, curled up in Elias’ lap, a small part of Jon feels a bit like a child in his father’s lap, receiving comfort after making a mistake. At least, he feels the way he imagines having a father must feel. He can feel his mind tiring from his crying, and so he gives in and sinks deep into a submissive headspace.

“You took your punishment so well. So good for me, aren’t you, Jon?” Elias squeezes Jon’s aching flesh possessively, and pulls a low moan from Jon.

Jon nods mutely, rubbing his face against the fine knit of Elias’ jumper. It’s a deep red with two vertical ribbed patterns down the front, and much softer than Elias’ usual button-down and blazer. He decides sleepily that he likes it quite a lot.

“I’ve got you, baby boy. No need to worry that pretty little head of yours over anything right now. You just have to listen to me, and I’ll tell you what you need to do.” Elias brushes a thumb over Jon’s lower lip and Jon takes it into his mouth, sucking sweetly.

Elias lets him lavish attention over his thumb for a bit before he takes it out and parts Jon’s lips with his first two fingers. He presses down on Jon’s tongue, allowing Jon to wet his fingers thoroughly before he begins to slide them in and out of his hot mouth. Jon moans around them.

“Let’s find another use for that mouth, hm?” Elias says through gritted teeth. His dick is straining against his trousers and every time Jon wiggles in his lap he feels a deliciously warm bolt of arousal. It’s taken great self control not to rut against Jon’s ass so far, but now he allows himself one roll of his hips to punctuate his point. Jon’s breath stutters and he grinds down in response, more an instinctual reaction than a conscious decision. He blinks up at Elias with doe eyes--his eyes are beautiful this close, Elias thinks, deep and dark--before he climbs off his lap to kneel on the floor between Elias’ legs.

Immediately Elias pops the button on his trousers, yanks down the zipper, and frees his cock, flushed and leaking precum already. He sees Jon’s pupils widen and his eyes zero in on his dick, mouth open, panting. Elias wastes no time in grabbing Jon by the back of the head and wrapping a hand around his shaft to guide it into Jon’s eager mouth.

Wet heat envelops Elias’ cock as Jon slowly sinks down with single-minded determination. Leave it to Jon to be methodical about sucking dick. He hadn’t been accustomed to it when he and Elias had first begun their...whatever this is, but Elias had trained him to take his length without gagging. Jon bobs his head up and down, inching further down his shaft each time. Elias marvels at how well Jon has learned.

_I have so much more to teach you, Jon_ , he thinks as he braces his other hand on Jon’s shoulder and begins to fuck up into him in earnest. _You’re perfect for me, for the Watcher. You’re going to learn so well_.

Jon’s Beholding abilities are not developed enough that he can read Elias’ mind, but he catches a hint of Elias’ religious pride and zeal. He moans suddenly, his eyes fluttering open to meet Elias’ gaze. He feels it penetrate his mind, his body, picking through all the individual pieces of him and turning them over, exposing their vulnerable underbelly. He feels a hot rush of arousal, shame, pride--all burning within him. Tears once again spring to his eyes. Part of him wants to hide from scrutiny and part of him wants to revel in it--Elias’ scrutiny _has_ always been for his betterment, after all.

Jon’s world narrows to the weight of Elias’ scalding gaze and the feeling of his cock in his mouth; everything else is fuzzy and muted, and so he doesn’t catch it when Elias’ breathing goes ragged and his hips stutter. The next thing he is aware of is Elias’ spunk hitting the back of his throat as he comes, and Jon has to fight his initial urge to gag, swallowing dutifully, the way Elias taught him to.

With a deep sigh Elias pulls Jon off of him and leans back against the sofa. He smiles crookedly and regards Jon with something like parental pride. Jon basks in it. Elias ruffles his hair, chuckling, and swipes a thumb over the corner of Jon’s mouth to catch some stray fluid, pressing it against Jon’s lips. Jon cleans his thumb off, eyes sliding closed and sighing in contentment.

“You really do have an oral fixation, don’t you?” Elias laughs. Jon blinks up at him. Does he? He's never thought that he does, but if Elias says so, it’s probably true. He lets his eyes flutter closed again and keeps sucking, too tired to form the words to answer.

He shifts his legs a little bit. He is soaking wet under his boxers, and now that the moment has ended, it’s a little uncomfortable. He knows that Elias isn’t going to bring him off today. Elias doesn’t let him come if he has to be punished.

Elias hums, slips his thumb out of Jon’s mouth, and pats his cheek lightly. “Come here.” Jon shuffles closer and turns around. He feels Elias part his hair at his nape and brush it away from his collar. He slides the leather out of the buckle and gently lifts the collar from Jon’s neck before folding and pocketing it.

He stands and helps Jon to his feet. “We have time yet left, so back to work with you. Get cleaned up.” Jon nods and fetches his glasses, belt, and trousers from their pile on the floor. As he dresses, Elias walks to his desk and opens a drawer. “I have a statement for you. A little pick-me-up.” Jon turns to face Elias as he finishes buckling his belt. Elias is holding out a crisp manilla folder, and Jon is surprised to find his hands drifting towards it before he makes the conscious decision to take it. Elias only smiles indulgently as Jon takes the folder.

“Off you go,” Elias closes the distance between them, leans down, and kisses Jon briskly on the top of the head. Before Jon can react, Elias strides past him, leaving Jon blushing furiously.

The kiss was more paternal than anything, but it still stirs an aching need in Jon. He is reminded of a painful emptiness in his chest, an acute loneliness. He wants to linger. He wants to kiss Elias back.

He wants to...but he doesn’t. Elias is right, he _does_ have work to do. His brain is beginning to regain its clarity as the high of subspace wears off. His fingers buzz where they touch the folder and his feet itch to rush to his office so he can lock himself away and dive into the statement hidden within.

He clears his throat and says, “Thank you, Elias.” His voice comes out raspy.

“Of course, dear Jonathan. Maybe ask Martin to put some extra honey in your tea, hm?” Elias chuckles. “I’m sure he’ll be happy to.”

Jon flushes darker at the thought. Would Martin know what he and Elias have been doing? Of course not, there’s no way. As embarrassing as the possibility is, the idea sends a little thrill through Jon. _Let them know_ , he thinks. _Let them know I’m yours_.

Jon is halfway through the door when Elias says, “I’m _very_ proud of you, Jon. You’re making _excellent_ progress.”

There’s... _something_ in his tone that gives Jon pause, initially. He feels like Elias isn’t saying everything he means. But then the praise registers in his mind and coats it with warmth and he lets it slip away. “Thank you, Elias,” he says again, this time softer. He catches Elias’ eyes on him for a heady moment before he closes the door and hurries to his office.

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to SwitchNaps and spale_vosver for beta reading! <33


End file.
